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I was accused of being a feminist recently. I use the word “accused” because the tone, flow of conversation, and comment landed in the middle of a disagreement. It went something like “of course you would think that way, you are a feminist.”

Um. Huh?

The comment caught me off guard, because generally speaking within Christian culture and circles, feminism and the celebration of all things lady warrior are usually half-frowned upon. Half-frowned, not fully, because there is a wrestling between women being free to grow, and do, and lead groups, and know their worth, and know they are set apart, and all the lingo we put on flyers for women’s conferences BUT when these women are so inclined or “called” to be on the teams that are making decisions, and making moves, and looking down the barrel at tough calls, and asking for more responsibility, and asking for a seat at the round table and asking questions and challenging paychecks and challenging leadership, and CHALLENGING anything. Well.

Feminist. Save us Jesus.

During this past election, that hands-down unearthed the crazy in all of us, I remember hearing a critique about Hillary that said “it isn’t safe for our country to be lead by a woman, they are too emotional to make decisions.”

“They” are too emotional to make decisions. Oh my. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Right now, in your life, their are no fewer than five women who spend THEIR ENTIRE DAY making decisions. From a working woman to a momma running the show in her home, to every woman in between, WE are making small and large decisions, unimportant and critical decisions, decisions that change the course of the day, and decisions that change the course of our lives and our household’s lives. Sound decision-making isn’t a super-power given to the male gender. Come on.

I’m not a fan of when people end a thought with I can’t. But I CAN’T.

Really, what I want is someone to just have the guts to say in these circles what we already know those in the big boy chairs think – women, and our emotional nature, can’t be trusted. Just say it. Because we can feel it. Our emotional intelligence is clued in and it is not a defect, or a flaw in our creation; it is what makes us qualified to sit at your table.

More importantly, we are not bound to Eve or her slip in judgement. One could make an argument for Adam’s deflection of responsibility as a weakness in leadership, so stop holding that story over our heads. “It was the woman’s fault.” Friends, that punch-line is old and tired. It’s lost it’s luster, if it every had any. Are we done being mocked by that story?

If we truly are free and new creations in Jesus, then let us be free. And new. Like it says we are.

We can trust in women. We can. Scripture is over-flowing with women who God trusted. Women who were charged with tasks that put their lives in danger and one whose obedience freed a nation. Women who took pause before over-reacting and causing a bigger mess. (Abigail, I love you.) Women who boldly believed in their own healing and their children’s healing and pursued Christ even as outcasts, their faith moving mountains. Women who weren’t stopped by their sin or shame or limitations or past or cultural confines. Women who sat at the feet of a Messiah, learning with the men, traveling with (and some scholars say funding) Jesus’s crusade.

Women who were trusted with two of the most beautiful, important and sensitive pieces of information. HE IS COMING. HE IS RISEN.

We can trust in women. Sisters, this is for you too. YOU CAN TRUST IN WOMEN. I suspect that for generations we have suppressed things that we have felt burning inside of us in an attempt to stay within the lines of church culture and obedience. All that stuffing down caused the God-given goodness inside of us to be manipulated and turned around into comparison and jealousy and gossip and folly and general disdain for one another. If I can’t-she can’t thinking. Nasty thinking. This thinking keeps us all in confinement. Instead, we should celebrate and love and cheer and chant “SHE CAN AND I CAN-SHE WILL AND I WILL”

As far as our emotional charge, well you can trust in that also. That pulsating charge is what makes women show up with casseroles in crisis and on random Saturday mornings. That charge is what makes women understand the difference between their children’s cries. That charge is what makes women keen givers of empathy and understanding. That charge is what holds friendships together for 20 years. That charge gathers people at dinner tables. That charge settles disgruntled employees and tense conversations. That charge is what ignites women to lead with servant hearts. That charge is comforting, calming and beautiful.

Sometimes that charge can get super-sized and things can tilt, but if you give her a minute, or space to reset, she will. She can. She does.

This emotional charge isn’t saved and created for women. It is the emotional soul that makes humans divinely interesting, and it is the wide open road to connection and relationship and love but also loneliness and pain and suffering. It is the heavenly substance that makes us FEEL. It is probably the founding father of the casserole. It is what makes us look at the sky with wonder and curiosity. It is the essence of being alive. For me, it is the place the Spirit resides. I can trust in this.

As far as feminism goes, well I am FOR WOMEN. That shouldn’t be a shock. This is reasonable, and decent, which means I am for my feminist friends. Male and female. I am also FOR MEN. Because goodness I am tired of the gender-divide and labeling up in these church walls and church pews. There is no US and THEM. We have better things to be doing. WE should be actively looking for the thing inside of our people that makes them come alive, THEIR GOD-GIVEN FINESSE and stand on the side-lines with posters and water and encouragement, and hope that says YOU CAN AND YOU SHOULD AND YOU WILL.

Friends, the same urgency and fervency that the idea to write about my childhood hit me, it also left me. I learned from Elizabeth Gilbert that ideas do not stay forever, so perhaps it wasn’t the right time to write that story, we will see. Thanks for being here. You are always welcome.

Like this:

Three years ago I felt an unshakeable urge to gather Thanksgiving groceries for families who may need them. Urges don’t come with money, resources or need. So I tossed the idea on FB to see if anyone else felt a push to help. They did. 20 something total strangers put together a feast for three families. As the holiday approached the past two years, I did the same. I put a call on FB and many answered back.

A few nights ago a friend of ours who suggested a lady and her family this year pulled me aside to tell me a story. He gives her rides, and had recently chatted with her during a ride to one of her doctor’s appointments. With tearful eyes he told me what the food donation meant to her. She and her mother have had a strained relationship since her father died, and had not spoken to each other in over a year. With one of the pies in hand, and a decent amount of courage, she went to visit her mother and share the dessert. Since then, they had spent time together every day.

If you have read my blog before, you know I am a big fan of Jesus. So when I feel “an urge” I almost always know who is urging me. It’s God.

This is were I am going with all this. In my personal life things are changing, people are changing, ideas are being looked at closer, conversations are starting. I have noticed this ugly, nasty fear surfacing in my close and extended Christian community when others no longer conform, believe as they do, ask questions, or share when they are “wrestling” with their faith, as we are clearly asked to do in scripture. Fear that leads to panic, gossip, assumptions, and hurtful words. A fear that marches us right up to an I KNOW IT ALL AND YOU KNOW NOTHING OR WHAT YOU KNOW IS WRONG soap box. The fear brushes the box off and allows us to make complete fools of ourselves. All of this causing me to call a hard time out and step back and step out.

Last night another status on FB propagating this mess of using Christ in a decisive way, dug in deep, reminding me of why I was taking an intentional break from daily FB checking. On my drive to my Advent study I began to cry. Mostly grieve. So I prayed, or talked it out aloud, knowing what God was saying and moving in me.

It’s this. WE ARE MISSING THE WHOLE THING. God is in the pies. HE IS IN THE PIES. He is in all of the small things that we overlook arguing who is and isn’t going to Heaven. While we continue mouthing, and assuming and fearing for people’s condition after death, He is busy restoring a daughter and mother who haven’t spoken in a year over a pie. As we pray for revival, or healing of our land, or hearts to change, He sends in the most unassuming, unusual suspects to do his work. Those who aren’t busy with who gets in and who doesn’t. He is already answering those prayers. We just aren’t looking in the right places.

I cried even more thinking of how unsuspected and radical it was that He sent Jesus as a baby FIRST. The prophecies could have read differently, that Jesus would be a man that just showed up to start this huge, loud campaign of change. And yet, He sends an infant who lives a life that is underwhelming, upsetting and questioned by many.

Friends, God is urging us to do big and little things. Urging us to actually practice the fruit of the spirit which is love, joy, peace, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, long suffering, and self-control. (Gal. 5:22-23) Urging us to SHOW PEOPLE His character, instead of argue over His character. Urging us to gather our people, Christian or not, to do healing things.

If you want to know what’s going on with me, I will tell you. I don’t care what church you attend, how you worship, what you wear, what denomination you feel is best or how you pray. If you tell me you are a Christian, then I am looking for Christ in you. He is pretty easy to spot. I will be looking for love. And since He came for the imperfect He shows up the brightest in the honest and imperfect. I am with you. You are who I want to follow this man with. It’s a beautiful thing that we get to do such amazing work. And if you tell me you aren’t Christian, I am still with you. I hope you see Jesus in me, and my life anyway. One pie at a time. One conversation at at time. One person at a time. One family at a time. One story at a time.

Don’t miss this. Don’t miss Him. Immanuel. God with us. Right now. Let’s get to work. Shout-out to the group that was able to give this Thanksgiving season! We are the stones that are tossed into everyday things to ripple it with kindness!

Merry Christmas to you amazing readers. So much love. You are welcome here always.

Hey new reader! If you liked what I wrote, I will occasionally write other things! Like Courtney Misener on FB or @cmisener on Insta! See you soon!

Like this:

The man and I just got home from a week in Florida. A week. Just the two of us. You can imagine how wonderful it was. It was also a bit awkward just being ALONE with him without our usual distractions. I mean in order for me to get some play around here I have to set up a few episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, hand out snacks, lock doors, etc. Parents you know what I am talking about…good grief..and I actually have no idea where I was going with that but nonetheless the trip was awesome.

The last day, well, we slept through our flight. Just snoozed right through it. So our final day was spent trying to remember that we still loved each other because nothing triggers moody people quite like missing a flight. We found a flight out, at a different airport, on a different airline, ate the cost of two new tickets, and settled in at our gate four hours early. We weren’t missing that second one.

Those next several hours I sat and did one of my favorite things to do. I people watched. Creeper style. Full-staring engaged. I did keep my face gentle and smiled often as to not scare the ones I was silently dissecting and judging. I watched families casually settling in at gates, and families running to catch planes. I watched kids drive their parents crazy and people argue at airline counters. I watched business professionals and snow-birds. Young hands and aged-hands holding each other. Tan-skin leaving and pale-skin arriving. People hugging, people hustling, people laughing, people sleeping, people stressing.

I watched about 20 people decide to eat a piece of delicious, greasy, Sbarro pizza-which made me join them in that horrible decision making. There really is no attractive way to eat pizza. I kept looking for it and we all just look like animals eating it. And while standing in line to buy the pizza I envied over everything the girl in front of me was wearing, her luggage, her beautiful care-free hair; she was buying a water. Of course, just a water. At a pizza joint. But then I remembered she probably looked like an animal eating pizza, so that made me feel better and worse all at the same time. JUST GET A PIECE OF PIZZA! I KNOW YOU ARE HUNGRY! But she probably didn’t want to get that perfect shoulder shawl saucy. I get it.

And so it carried on. Me watching people. (The man was intensely engaged in his work-cause he was supposed to be at work. Missed flight and all.) At one point I remember closing my eyes and putting my head in my hands and thought “God, there are SO MANY PEOPLE IN THIS WORLD, and I am supposed to believe that you know, and love them all. All of them. And this is just one corner gate, in one airport, in one spot on the planet. There are so many people HERE. So many people.”

I think-and stay-in my head so long I wonder some days if I will ever get out of the maze. But I thought a lot that morning. And I noticed that people are starkly different. Just different. Our outward differences are obvious-the color of our skin, the shapes of our bodies, the way we sit and walk and carry ourselves. The way we engage our neighbor, and the way we move towards the people we love. Even the way we wash our hands in the bathroom. We just are and do things differently.

I also noticed that we are starkly alike. That all the things we do differently are just details. That the blueprint from the beginning of time hasn’t changed. Our skin is different, but we are covered with skin. Our faces have the same functioning parts, just the details vary. We all (mostly) walk, sit, talk, stand the same way. There are variations to this of course, but the majority are a carbon copy of motor movement. We all also universally feel things. We feel sadness, we feel happiness, we know belonging and we know isolation. We know failure and we know victory. We know when love is real and when it is fake. We know what physical pain feels like and we know what emotional pain feels like. This may be the greatest unifying thread among us all. We can’t escape feeling the world as we experience it. How we handle all of that-well like I said. Details.

We are all people hustling, laughing, sleeping, and stressing.

And it is impossible to look attractive eating pizza.

I felt it sharp-knowing that I separate myself from people. I do it. I choose. I judge. I expect. I see what I want to see and hear what I want to hear. I protect myself. I know this is what we do. I know we, even more than ever, separate ourselves into camps of safe people. To camps of people who will not challenge our beliefs or argue with the safety of our theological perimeters. We buddy up with parents who parent the way we do and soap box on the same soap boxes we carry. We stay safe. The other side requires us to feel too much-to question too much-to love too deep.

The other side requires me to give the chick buying water a break. And recognize that the two of us are, from creation, more alike than different.

I think this is why God can see and love us all. He never intended for the us to be so vastly different, as we are not to him. If you remove all the details, his workmanship looks alike over and over.

I have had people in our circle preach fear. The end times. All that mess that scares people who hear it out of context. I have had many people call me naive for pushing kindness in my posts, for looking past our differences to really LISTEN AND HEAR the person on the other side of an argument or disagreement. I have been accused of watering-down the good word and giving people the benefit of the doubt. Hear me when I say, I know no other way.

The Jesus who lives in me years ago took this heart of mine and infused it deeply with a love for the oppressed, the voiceless, the overlooked, the judged, the categorized, the ones our churches invite on marquees but shun with body language outside the church doors. I’ve tried not to rally for these people. I have tried. So many times. But I must. And when I flip the coin and do something like wrongly judge a chick in a line, I feel it. Deeply. If you were to know me 10-15 years ago, then you would know this makes no sense. I wasn’t bubbling over with acceptance and kindness. Then He does stuff like stick me in an airport to remind me of all this.

And if, if the worst comes and my extension of love ends in a way that I am harmed or my family is harmed, then I will stand before Jesus and know I did exactly as he had instructed me to do-as he prompted me to do. I will die teaching my children and preaching kindness, love, love that does not have strings attached, and that we are more alike than different. So we can rest in that. And to fear not-because the God that loves us so well did not give us a spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. I will die preaching the goodness of King Jesus, of his kindness, and of his unrelenting ability to hang in there with us as we feel and experience the nasty, hurtful, crazy stuff of this life.

And now you know. I will not fear God’s creation. The only thing I have left is to perfect trying to love them. All of them. As well as I can, as God leads.

All of this, from missing a flight.

I hope you read this blog and feel encouraged. I’ve said before, it is crazy to me the amount of people who read my writing. This will be what I write about. I hope you stay. I hope you look at a stranger today and notice your similarities. I hope you smile at them. I hope you recall what a wreck you were, or are, before Jesus got a hold of you. I hope you let go of fear. Or at the very least, I hope you think about all this stuff.

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. ~2 Timothy 1:7~

I have to write this because I know someone will challenge me. I know there are evil people in the world. Terrible, evil, extreme, and downright mean people. I know this. I know there are extremely dangerous places, situations, and again-people. I have the common sense, wisdom, etc not to actively engage or provoke these individuals to do harm to those I love, or myself. What I am talking about above is choosing to let go of our fear of everyone because of the few, or of choosing to classify everyone because of a few. And still, in the very rare event I lose my life or get hurt for opening myself up, so be it. Jesus lost his life over it. Gave it for messed up people. For people who would still be bad. Reckless, crazy behavior. Reckless, crazy love.

Like this:

“My name is no, my sign is no, my number is no..you need to let it go” (this song is so catchy. You are welcome for it being stuck in your head)

My children were playing after school on the playground yesterday. It didn’t take long for a game of tag to begin, little ones dodging and lunging around the kid that was ‘it’. My second-born was ‘it’ for awhile. Awhile considering he was the youngest in the bunch and his older brother and his friends were naturally quicker.

Soon he grew tired of the game and walked away to find my youngest son. The dreaded role of ‘it’ was now open. I thought the game would disperse, but just as it was ending someone decided that a little girl who had just joined to play would now commence as the one chasing everyone else. She was noticeably smaller than the boys she was chasing, four or five by my guess, giving it all she could to catch the boys giggling, yelling, and running away from her.

I watched for awhile, then decided to call my oldest over to give him the “let her tag you” speech. His friend came along and I told them there was no way she could catch any of the boys, and to give her reprieve if only for a minute. He listened and said “but mom, she wants to be it.” His friend agreed. “No one wants to be it” I said, to which they both shook their heads and repeated that she indeed wanted to be it, and when she caught one of them THEN they had to be her husband.

“I don’t want to be her husband mom” Beckett said. “Guess what, I’m not dressed for a wedding and she has to ask my permission anyway, so don’t worry you won’t be her husband today.” I said. And off they ran to re-join the game.

I don’t have a daughter, but as I watched I wondered if it really did start that early, the chasing of a man. I watched her run around the huddled up laughing boys. Watched her flail her arms at each one, almost reaching them, almost tagging them. I couldn’t remember if I chased boys at that age. Maybe I did. Maybe that’s what we do as women. Chase things.

The when, then stuck with me though.

‘WHEN she catches us, THEN we have to be her husband.’

That is what we are chasing as women, as anyone I guess, the WHEN, THEN. When I catch the thing I am flailing around trying to catch, then I will make it have value. Then I will have value.

I thought about my own when, then(S) in my life, thought about why they mattered. Thought about the lies I believe in my when, then(s).

When the kids are all in school, then I can really focus on my mental health and career.

When Josh and I are out of debt, then we can give like I want to.

When Josh and I make more money, then of course we can give like we want to.

When I am older, and more experienced, then I can be a writer.

When I have more time, then I can exercise.

When Josh changes, then I will change.

When we sale our house, then we can have a competitive down payment on the house I really want. (yeah, so that’s not a lie. I need to sale our current house, come look at it.-you feel me?)

Thought about other when, then(s) that people I love deal with …..

When we have a baby, then our marriage will be okay.

When we get through this or that or whatever then I will love my spouse.

When I find a man, then I will have purpose. Value. Self-respect. I will be fulfilled. Same as for when I find a woman.

When I loose weight, then I will love my body.

When I get the promotion, or title, then I will be respected.

When we deal with our major family issues, then we will have peace.

When I stop drinking, then I will start dealing with the reasons why I drink.

When, then, when, then, when, then….

I feel winded.

So I had to check myself. Because what about NOW? Because now I have issues that need to be dealt with. Now I need to wake up and choose my husband. Now I need to – above all things – take care of my mental health. Now I need to focus on my small business. Now I need to write. Now I need to give. Today. Right now. Not when, then.

But I stall. It is scary on the other side of the cliff. Our when, then(s) partner with fear, because ain’t nobody got time to dig in and do the work required on themselves. It is so vulnerable there. And if we are attaching self-worth, respect, ownership, dreams, goals, healing, to the other side of our when, then(s)-then we gotta get to the other side.

Friends, your marriage will not get better when kids come along. Your marriage will get better with tried and true hard work and change. You will not truly love the skin the good Lord gave you when you start eating healthy and exercising if you don’t first love it enough to take care of it now. Your spouse, man, woman, will never fill the void you want them to fill if you first don’t explore the space yourself. No promotion, title, pay raise, or recognition will hold the respect you need if you first don’t understand the importance of respecting yourself as is. Today. You won’t give more when you have more, because you didn’t give little when you had little. And peace…peace in families comes from those who are peacemakers. Not side-line observers.

All this NOW stuff is big heart issue stuff. It’s looking in the mirror stuff. It’s pulling back the rug stuff. It’s white elephant in the room asked to take a bow stuff. Sweet Jesus it is hard, brutal emotional stuff. Uncomfortable stuff.

But I know, after watching that sweet girl chase and chase today, that their is no peace in when, then(s). Only exhaustion and frustration.

NOW-we figure out what we are chasing.

I’m digging in with you, trying to figure out what I am chasing that will satisfy this longing for success and respect. Why is it so important? Why do other people’s opinions matter?

I know to whom I belong , and by whom I am loved. Both here and in Heaven. Why is this not enough?

I hope you ask yourself some questions. I hope you find a safe person to talk to. I hope you stop flailing. I hope you rest your weary legs and stop chasing worth in something or someone.

I am pretty tired myself.

And ladies, “If I want a man, then I’m gonna get a man. But it’s never my priority.” Head down, only running in your lane, not worried about what other people have going on. Check off your bucket list, and know who you are. I promise the man you are looking for will find you when you are looking away. And he will LOVE how much you LOVE and RESPECT yourself. It is so very attractive.

If he doesn’t, run away as fast as you can. Just run. But don’t be the girl who is “it”. You are swatting at emptiness.

Strength to rest and re-evaluate what we are chasing. Strength to identify our when, then(s) that are shutting us down. Strength for it all. Carpe Diem.

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So if you have followed the blog long, you know I am a Christ-follower. Can I tell you something great? There is no when,then with Jesus. It’s a when-right now. When you choose Jesus-he chooses you. Right away. He chooses you. He’s been waiting for you. No when you choose me, then you get your life together, then I choose you. No when you love me, then you stop sinning, then I love you. He is a present lover of you. Sometimes he is too big for me to think about, his love too wide open, his mercy too freely given, his forgiveness too unending. Sometimes He is overwhelming. But even still, He doesn’t put me in a situation that I need to perform to understand how He works. And HE still came for us, for me,-when we were sinners-and ended all the rat racing with his death on the cross. He came for you.

~We love, because HE first loved us.~ I love, because He showed me what love is.

Romans 5:8, 1st John 4:19.

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Loving this little blog?? Follow Courtney Misener on FB to catch the going ons and other goofy things-or on Instagram @cmisener. You are welcome here always!

Above is a nod to Meghan Trainor’s NO-but video not ok for little eyes- Song is groovy though! Plus I found a reason to name this post something goofy…

Like this:

Awhile ago I had a miscommunication with someone close to me. It was a mis-everything actually. Misunderstanding, miscommunication, misheard, mis-mess-hurt feelings throw down. Good ole’ fashion she said he said. It was brutal. And I hadn’t had a situation like this in years.

This ego of mine, maybe even my pride, drew a line in the sand and rallied the troops. The troops being my stubbornness, sarcasm, sharp tongue and my husband. Step one-get him on my side.

This particular conflict was messing with me because the truth was, the truth is, I wasn’t in the wrong. Like, really. I tend to believe I live in a world that I am never wrong, and often if not always that world of mine implodes. I find that I am wrong, that I can be wrong, that being wrong won’t kill me and that people actually prefer when I admit I am wrong over reigning supreme as the queen of Never Wrongville. Because let’s be honest. Those people are the worst. Just the worst. So, I’ve been working on that.

BUT!!! For once, I really wasn’t in the wrong! I know this because my husband said so! And that man is so full of integrity that I want to punch him frequently because he puts me in my place all the time. This time, he said-“YOU ARE RIGHT. I DON’T KNOW WHERE THIS IS COMING FROM.”

The “this” he was referring to was the hurtful, untrue, obnoxious things that were said to me and about me. They stung. They worked themselves into what I believed about myself. The words found themselves on ears of close friends. Of people who loved me. Of people who knew me.

For a person like myself, a person that tells herself damning things anyway, a person who fights her mind every morning, a person who deep down knows her worth, but has to spend time aligning her mind and heart-words are the scales of life and death. They just are.

Knowing this about me, and knowing the things being said were stone cold lies, I called my mentor. My mentor is different from my therapist. Everyone needs both. To talk words with. Words that are killing you and words that are healing you.

My mentor listened. Listened without asking questions. This is important. He listened and let me finish. At the end, he gave me a scripture to think about. It went like this:

~But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who ask you to give the reason for the hope you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscious, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander.~ 1st Peter 3:15-16

So I pondered on the above for a little bit.

This is what I know, and what he was trying to tell me. It doesn’t matter what crap people have heard and are sifting through about you. WHAT MATTERS IS THE WAY YOU LIVE YOUR LIFE. And if you live a life loving and learning from Jesus, and/or a life of kindness and gentleness, then your life will do ALL THE TALKING NEEDED without uttering a word. Your life will put the slander to shame.

I honestly believe this is equally freeing and terrifying. Because this truth could swing either way. Regardless, WHO WE ARE will do all the talking, every time.

He told me to pray about it. He told me to forgive. He told me to shake it off. That was that.

Friends, if you are currently on the receiving end of some bull, if what is being said about you is unfair, untrue, unprovoked or hurtful, I am sorry. It sucks. I will say the same to you. Pray about it. Shake it off. Practice forgiveness. (God knows that is a skill-so practice needed) and live your life so the slander is put to shame.

Friends, if you are currently the one spewing the bull, then stop. Just stop. Even if you feel validated in the spewing. If you have to whisper to say it, don’t say it. If you have to check yourself before saying it, don’t say it. There is no power greater in the universe than harmful and healing words. We get to choose which ones we use. Choose healing. Choose kindness. Choose life-giving.

There isn’t a truer statement than the picture below. What Susie says of Sally says more of Susie than of Sally. Yes, and Amen. Preach. Get it. If you are talking trash-it is a reflection on YOU. No one else. Trash-talking is a symptom of something else. A cry to yourself that something is going on. Back to the therapist thing-get one. Dig in and do some hard work and find out why gossiping feeds you. I know-that I know-that outward expressions are reflections of inward happenings. Whatever is going on the inside will find its way out. Good, bad and ugly.

If you have read this far, I am sure this is old news. We all know this right? We know how damaging words can be. Both saying them and being pelted by them. And yet, we still engage. We still whisper. We still stretch the truth. Why? Well because we are messed up human beings. So messed up. It is much easier to focus on and spread someone else’s crap than our own. Looking at our stuff…yeah that is hard. Looking at it and dealing with it…even harder. Looking at it and admitting where we were wrong, hardest ever. It has to be done.

I’ve stated before that I write these blogs to myself. Lord have mercy I need to check myself. I am growing, I am learning. I can do better.

Strength to speak words that are good, kind and whole today. Strength to live our lives differently so nasty words are put to shame. Strength to notice our blind spots and weaknesses. Strength to shut our mouths. Strength to shake sheez off. I am with you.

Like this:

One morning about a month ago Josh and I had a loud, engaging marital debate (fight, we had a fight) about who even knows. I can’t even remember. What I do remember is that in order to get my point across I yelled a word that rhymes with duck. And truck. And luck.

My actual sentence was “WHAT THE (duck, truck, luck..yeah you guessed it.) A-team cuss-word status. I figured in order to get my point across I needed to pull out the big guns. I was also fooled in thinking that our kids were preoccupied with their cereal and cartoons.

With lighting speed those words left my mouth, and our four year old silently registered that sentence in his language catalog. He also decided that those words would be his NEW FAVORITE THING TO SAY. AND SAY. AND SAY.

That night my mother-in-law was visiting and she and my son were sitting on the floor working a puzzle. The pieces weren’t fitting together, so in frustration he said clear as day “WHAT THE (f-word)”. There was a pause, and as we were waiting to see if any adult would acknowledge his potty mouth, two thoughts went through my head. The first was actually another cuss word. The second, was surprise that he used the phrase correctly.

I smiled at my mother-in-law and raised my hand admitting my guilt. “Me” I said. “It was me. He learned it from me.” We both laughed and later that night Josh and I talked to him about why Mommy should have chosen a different word, and that those words were not words for a four year old, or even for mommies. So I figured, good. Done with that.

Nope. Not done with that. YA’LL WE ARE NOT DONE. This child of mine is on a ROGUEMISSION TO SELL ME OUT any chance he can get. (PS-kids are the worst at throwing us under the bus…punks.)

The following is a list of people who have been told by my four year old that the f-bomb is a bad word, as well as many versions of this word. Am I around when he is dropping this information? NO. As stated above, rogue.

Daddy, Grandma, his uncle, both brothers, two babysitters, his Sunday School teacher, Pre-school teacher, two neighborhood kids, family friends and a handful of monster trucks HAVE ALL BEEN TOLD by my four year old that the BIG F is a bad word. And he says it plain as day. Why do I know this? Because in giggles and belly laughs they have told me.

And since he has shared this information with his little brother so many times, my three year old is now on board to spread the gospel message that this word is bad. Of course, in order to be a strong communicator one must practice their message often, so that is what my three-year old has been busy doing. Practicing using this new word.

WE ARE NOT DONE. FOR THE LOVE.

Josh and I have a plan, and we will see this through. If it doesn’t work-I may be back asking for parenting advice….but not yet.

This is what I want you to know :: SOMETIMES THINGS HAPPEN IN OUR LIVES THAT SHAKE THE PERCEPTION OUTLINES WE GIVE PEOPLE TO BELIEVE ABOUT US.

On social media, in relationships, during dinner conversations, in small groups- if you aren’t someone who has been in my inner circle for years or knows me intimately, I am going to drive the information I give you to control what you believe about me.

We all do it. Our manipulation and selectivity of information is exercised many different ways, in order to protect who we want people to think we are.

And this is who I want you to think I am; I want you to think I am a woman so in love with Jesus, and her husband. A mother who has fought the good fight with depression and won it, a mother who loves her children and is raising them in a calm home that is free from strife and unrest. A woman placed by God to run a thriving and growing Women’s Ministry who leans not on her own strength, but God’s. I also want you to think I am funny. And pretty. And an amazing writer.

Some of what I want you to think is true. There are, however, large holes in the above story line. For starters, I like to cuss. I said the word like. Because I do. It has become a habit and common in the way I communicate. Many would argue cussing isn’t in the best interest of someone representing Jesus. There are many schools of thought about cuss words qualifying as sin (it would be cool if that conversation did not start here in the comments)-but for me I don’t actually agree with the word being sin, more than the truth that I can communicate my point in a way that may be less offensive-and give people a purer version of the Jesus I claim to be so in love with. ( I am going to stop here on this. The next blog post will open this up more and explain why I have come to this conclusion. Please wait before weighing in until next post)

Right now, this current habit of mine is roaming the street coming out in a blaze of glory through my four year old. And isn’t that just the thing-the stuff we try to hide and engage in secretly, or stuff down, or dismiss as not a big deal, or pawn off , all that stuff always finds away to surface and cling to us like a scarlet letter. All things come to light in the end.

So it’s out. My cussing F-bomb is out. My kids cuss. They heard it at home. If they cuss around you-they heard it at home. No need to wonder.

There is a story in the bible often quoted and used to explain Jesus’s character. There was a woman caught in adultery who was brought before Jesus to be sentenced. She was brought by the Pharisees who have been compared to the religious community of the time. As the crowd rallied for her to be stoned to death, as was punishment for this act according to old law, Jesus says the famously quoted “he that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone.” The woman’s accusers drop their stones and leave.

Jesus, standing alone with the woman, then asks her “Woman, where are your accusers? Has no one condemned you? to which she replied “No one, sir.”

Let’s sit here a minute. This is the good, rich, beautiful truth of life. YOU ARE YOUR ONLY ACCUSER. Your behavior, actions..all that may call attention to something you are doing. People may raise a brow. Ask questions. Judge unfairly. Cast stones. All of it. But the holes in the reality you are giving people and the reality you are living will accuse you first. It starts with you. And the accuser’s stone you are holding will be the only one that matters.

And if we know this about people, we can drop our stones and walk away. For those of us following Jesus, we really are all the woman trying “to go and sin no more.” For those who choose another way-we still drop our stones. The holes in our stories will accuse us as sure as we accuse others. So we have to communicate differently. Maybe without the F-bomb.

If you experience my son’s potty mouth, good for you. Because at the very least you will get a decent laugh in for the day. I hope you also know I am human, make mistakes, and am doing my best to let Jesus mold a truer perception for me to hand out. Maybe even one day I won’t hand stuff out anymore, you will just get what you get. I don’t even know if I will stop cussing. (joking-probably gonna stop because..kids.)

Strength for today friends. Love for all your cussing friends. Love for who you really are.

(Above story found in John 8:1-11)

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So this picture. This picture I took with a Kodak disposable camera that I cranked after shooting. This is what I respectfully refer to as “the hotness.” My hotness was so on point that day that I had to get it on film. My selfie game was strong, even before the game even existed. (looking at the pic now I don’t know why I am so serious, but I digress. Also-shout out to the bathroom in the home I grew up in!)

Somewhere around the age of 17 my unfortunate stent in the awkward stage finally started to let up. You know the one. Those school pictures don’t find frames very often. Over a course of a summer my body and my face finally figured out where they were going, and with new found attention from boys and a few pageant wins under my belt-I became obsessed with, well, ME.

Finding and perfecting the hotness became a quest. Had selfies been a thing during these years-I am convinced I would have broke the lens of my camera. My phone would have been so tired of looking at me it just would have given up.

I never grew tired of looking at myself though. If there was a mirror around, I was in it. If I went out, I was in the bathroom on the regular making sure I still looked good. It was my thing. And many people saw my self-respect, love, whatever as confidence. Nah. I wasn’t confident.

I was a bonafide vain-junkie. I was addicted to myself. And being beautiful.

While looking through pictures of the hotness I forgot how often I used my chest to get free drinks. You know-using the goods God gave me. For free drinks. No big deal. It was exhausting being that girl. But I didn’t know it then.

There is trouble in being addicted to yourself, and to the game of being beautiful. Nasty, unnerving trouble.

Plus, all the work of achieving outer beauty is really work at fixing something on the inside.

Here is how things went down. The hotnessran it’s course for a solid 8-9 years, peaking somewhere after Josh and I got married. (How else would I have landed him?) And then, like a freight train, the last 10 years hit me. In it’s wake, I don’t look in mirrors quiet as often. And I sure don’t like taking pictures. Because beautiful just doesn’t have the same definition anymore. It’s not the face I look at in the mirror.

(For new readers-I had two children back to back and what carrying a child and exhaustion does to a body, both physically and mentally; there are just some things you can’t cover up with make-up. You feel me?)

~Now let me pause here before my amazing readers battle cry “but you are beautiful!” I had a very defined, very external view of beauty for a very long time. My beauty. I knew what I needed to do and look like to be beautiful. That, my friends, is what ran it’s course.~

This is what happens when someone addicted to the way they look looses their grip on the way they look. They feel like they are dying. Just like a junkie needing a fix. They draw into themselves, become envious and rooted in jealousy, and find that the insecurity that drove the obsession in the first place is the only thing left to look at.

Me. This is what happened.

I started dismissing compliments (still do), believed that I was indeed ugly, just as I had always known and tried to fix, just as I was trying to tell the man I married. The man I married-who I no longer felt comfortable undressing in front of-who I pulled away from when he reached for me.

And my sweet blue-eyed boys. Those boys. When you are a vain-junkie you can find yourself resenting the things that steal your beauty. Those beautiful little boys.

All this nasty and unnerving trouble. It was also exhausting work.

In the fall off my pedestal of grandeur and defined beauty I learned something that was worth every moment of my coming undone. I learned that for so long, I knew nothing of beauty. Nothing. The girl in the pictures above had some amazing experiences. Travel, love, family gatherings, college, nights out with the best of friends. My memories of those times are blurry because I missed it. (and well, alcohol.) I missed the beauty in the things right in front of me. I couldn’t see it; I was the only thing in my line of sight. I missed it all.

Don’t miss it all.

Now, I know that beauty can’t reign externally. It should reign planted and abundantly growing internally. Inside us. Deep inside of us. Where we can only feel it, and then it makes us see our lives differently, outwardly. It helps us see beauty in other people. Beauty is impossible to see in other people when our eyes are fixed on our own.

This is an issue of the heart. And I follow a Jesus that tackles, and heals, issues of the heart. I was reminded of this yesterday in counseling. (go-you have to go.) Our good friend said “you know, I think the Pharisees were people who were always talking about ideas. They were idea people. Fixing ideas and problems. Jesus, Jesus was after the heart. He wanted the heart issues.”

Yeah. Over the past several years of letting go of my idea of beauty, I have seen the most beautiful of things. I have never before been so in awe of beauty. And Jesus works on this heart of mine, and these troubling feelings of despair and loss over the hotness, one patch at a time, telling me to look out of myself and to look again for what I am missing.

My husband is one of the most beautiful men I have ever looked at, largely because of his character. The stuff on the inside. I miss it all the time. Because you know, he threw his clothes at the top of the closet, again.

My children. Sweet Taco Tuesday they are beautiful. The stuff on their insides is so innocent and goofy and exciting and a little strong-willed. Some days, I just don’t see it. Because I am lost, somewhere inside of my head, trying to look out.

And as for me, well I am working on knowing I am beautiful on the outside. I believe it is important for women (everyone) to feel amazing in their skin, and beautiful. As long as their definition of beautiful is a healthy one.

I also know that the beauty rooting itself deep inside of me is the best I have to offer. I want, more than ever, to feel complete on the inside first. The girl showing up in pictures these days looks a little tired, is the biggest she has ever been, and doesn’t get ready as often as she used to. But she is on the way to being HEALTHY. Mentally healthy. Heart issues healthy. Love healthy. I appreciate that about her.

As for you-I wish I could say “you are beautiful just the way you are.” But I have never been a fan of that sentiment. Sometimes, just the way we are, is a mess. And we don’t feel beautiful. And we aren’t healthy. And we are stress eating three bags of Cheetos (shhh.) And no matter how many people tell us we are beautiful or blessed, well, we just don’t feel it.

So to you I say “There is beauty deep inside of you. Beautiful things that want to come out. Kindness, love, gentleness, compassion, a sound mind. They are in there. That is what you will feel. That is when you will feel beautiful. When it comes out. Then as you look outward, you will see it. Beautiful things. You will be one of the things.”

There is the most awe-inspiring beauty inside of you. I know it.

It is the Holiday Season friends, turn the camera outward, find the beauty inside. Then you will see everything you have been looking for.

~But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.~ 1st Samuel 16:7

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-But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering {doubting}, For he that doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind- James 1:6

I decided to pray yesterday. I pray every day, because that is what I have been taught to do. Considering I have been talking to myself for 34 years, the talking to God part has never been difficult for me. Not the talking.

The believing that He is listening, well that is another story.

Yesterday, I laid my phone down on the kitchen table and recited my personal mantra to help the poking porcupine of emotions lower its quills. You’ve heard me call my emotions this before-because they do flare and poke-so I told myself “look for the small things.”

But my small things yesterday reminded me of why I was feeling so much. I had just laid my phone down, just decided that I could no longer read another word about the Syrian refugee crisis. Every word, every word about the safety of our country, the failing of our current President, states refusing to extend help, the right blaming the left, the left blaming the right, pictures of refugee children sleeping on the ground, leaders chastising the church for bigotry, the church scolding the church, christians divided, atheists taking cheap shots at the division, letters and videos in memory of the Paris victims, words written from people who are actually working in the refugee camps,

The manipulation of the story of Christ’s birth used as a comparison to the refugees being turned away.

Every word, all of it, sitting there in my stomach.

I decided to pray. I made an actual decision to try prayer instead of panic, and started the conversation in my head, like I have done a thousand times before.

I prayed for the safety of my family. That’s how it started, praying for myself and mine, like I have done a thousand times before.

Before I knew it I felt the emotions move from my stomach to falling out of my eyes as I prayed for the leaders of this country, our current President, the men and women who serve in our Armed Forces, for the prejudice in my heart, and the hate in my words-the words that I have only spoken to myself.

I prayed for the children sleeping in tents and on the road to safety, I prayed for the families that were destroyed and separated, both in Paris and Syria. I opened that prayer to every family, worldwide, that has been touched by terrorism.

The emotion made me pause as I began to pray for every mother or father boarding or placing a child on a boat in an act of love, making hard decisions, trusting the life of their child to both faith and chance; my pause provoked by both empathy and a stranger’s reality.

Then I prayed for every man, woman or child that has strapped a bomb to their chest or unloaded a round of ammunition into the chest of another as an act of allegiance to the God, or ideology, they served. I asked for forgiveness. For them, and for me.

The prayer moved to the homeless here in Cedar Rapids, the division between churches, the economy, all the way to my marriage.

I ended by thanking God for my small things; one of the small things was needing to be picked up from school.

I heard a wise woman say “You believe that He CAN do it, you just don’t believe He WILL.” She was referring to the way we pray, that we believe God can do all things, we just don’t believe he will in our lives.

Yeah, sometimes that’s me. But yesterday I prayed like I knew HE CAN and WILL.

And that peace that passes understanding that the Bible talks about-I felt it. I felt the quills lower and the peace settle in.

I know this is why God tells us to seek HIM first. First, before panic. First, before fear. First before soapbox opinions and heated conversations. First before social media and TV. First before doubt and unrest. First, before judgement. First, before hatred.

And considering that God is defined as LOVE-then seek LOVE first. First.

I don’t usually do this. But I am learning. I am learning that when I talk to Him first, the Holy Spirit tells me what my next move is. It is always a way better and more loving plan than my own.

If you are a praying person, I challenge you to pray tonight with a faith that can move a mountain, and stitch back together a war-torn world.

Pray because you know HE WILL-not that he can. God will see his work finished for good. If you don’t believe God will, then start there. Pray about that. At least open up the conversation.

If I have realized one thing from the Paris attacks, it is that the evil we are facing can only by triumphed by a Heavenly good. The thing is – Heaven wants to use us to be good- (Christ) ambassadors. What an amazing gig.

Pray for your small things. It will likely lead you to pray for big things. I am praying with you.

-Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace that passes all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Phillipians 4: 6-7

-But seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you. (These things being the things we pray for. In the scripture before God is telling us to not be anxious for the things we need. He’s got it covered) Matthew 6:33-

-Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is LOVE! 1st John 4: 7-8

The only place I find safe in the shadow of the mountain is in my bed. In pajamas. Asleep. At least when I am sleeping, I don’t have to feel everything that is waiting to be felt.

“It’s a demonic spirit” my Jesus following friends say. “It’s depression and anxiety” the books and experts and symptoms say. I don’t know what IT is. But whatever IT is- it hovers.

And I know as soon as I wake up if IT and I are going to dance that day. If it is going to hover.

So today we danced.

I started with my list of shoulds-you know-‘Courtney you should.’ The shoulds are a game of Tetris in my brain. Each one turning over and over, speeding up, chaotically dropping one on top of the other. I know if I can get one should-one thought-to fit together it will move, I will move, but during the dance the shoulds don’t line up.

Courtney-you should get up. You should move. You should go outside. You should eat. You should change clothes. You should open the blinds. You should check in with Josh.

I always know what I should be doing. The IT turns the shoulds into enormous tasks. Mountains. So many mountains. I can’t breathe looking at the mountains.

Liam is asleep on the couch and Jude is playing quietly with monster trucks. In the quiet the Tetris pieces stop falling and I have a moment of clarity. Sweet Jesus, for a moment, I can think. I decide that one at a time, one simple task at a time, that I would breathe through this day and conquer mountains. It took until 3:30 to get the nerve. I had to pick up Beckett. He has asked before that I not show up in pajamas.

I locked this truth in my heart on the walk to his school in regular clothes :: that today is not the whole of all of my today-s.

When I woke up, I knew I was going to dance with my depression, with my IT. Believing that every day will be the same is what sent me into this spiral in the first place. My heart let go of HOPE. Hope and joy have returned though, since this journey has started, and I will not let go of it again. I can’t.

Because today can not be the whole of all of my today-s.

I will teach my sweet boys this. They will know that some days will leave them breathless and sore-and so be it. What’s important is that they make it through the beating to try again tomorrow. One foot in front of the other. One sore step at a time. One conversation with God after another. We have to try for tomorrow.

There is courage and heart in trying again, and trying FOR tomorrow.

If you had a day today-I am sorry. Because they are exhausting. But God will let the sun rise again in the morning. And we get to try again. You get to try again.

Strength for the rest of today. Strength for tomorrow.

Today was not the whole of all of your today-s.

Plus, my people, and your people, are worth holding onto hope. They are worth taking a beating; so we can have a tomorrow.

~Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. ~ Matthew 6:34. The good book letting us know that some days will leave us sore.

The scripture before holds the hope promise though. ~But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.~ Matthew 6 :33. These “things” meaning everything we need. And I need HOPE.

Like this:

So…this was different for me. My husband had some thoughts. So he put them down in writing. And it was so interesting, and kinda sad, but mostly nice to read this. This is his story-about my story. I cried reading it, which is no news there. I love him.

This is a phrase my wife is very familiar with. It is common language really, having frequently exited my mouth for the last 3.5 years.

My wife somehow fell over backwards into post partum depression and still struggles with the trigger-happy illness today. I’m not sure, however, if we can still call it postpartum considering our youngest is three. But nonetheless she still fights some days-with something.

Before I realized it was an illness, I simply believed Courtney could choose to be happy, but instead was unexplainably choosing it’s counterpart, sadness. But I was wrong. It’s an epidemic that took her mind into submission and created choas.

I first saw depression take its form when Courtney was pregnant with our 3rd son Jude. She was still fighting the residual pregnancy hormones from just giving birth to our 2nd son and recovering from that pregnancy. Hormones and a rollercoaster of emotions took over her mind. She wanted to abort Jude. A phrase I would have never imagined hearing from the lips of a mother who was (is) madly in love with her children. Through a lot of listening and little talking, we hurdled the evil and she gave birth to Jude. God changed her heart. But her depression would then take a different form. Something in her drastically changed.

Court and I at the beginning of all this. Pregnant with Jude here.

Coming home from work was like walking into the eye of the storm. Especially when it was her eyes that read anger and resentment. Always anger. Seldom any talking. I used to ask myself WHY? After awhile, I stopped asking.

I understood that she was annoyed that I had the “luxury” of working all day while she was home with the kids, but often there would be no reason for her sudden, very sudden, change in emotions. The thing with my wife is that she is a mover and a shaker-but being home with the kids wasn’t her idea of moving and shaking.

I learned many things during this time. Her depression made simple tasks unbearable to handle, for example, springing things on her like, “Hey, let’s go to breakfast in 10 minutes” or “is it ok if so and so comes over?….in 20 minutes?” In these situations I could feel the anxiety and fear well up in Courtney. She would say “I just need time to think about it first.”

Another symptom she was trying to navigate was extreme insecurity. Her insecurity was debilitating, she always needed time to evaluate her outfit so it fit properly on a body that she swore was getting bigger by the day. Nothing ever fit right. She hated the way she looked in pictures. We only have a few of her with Liam and Jude when they were babies.

Courtney lost interest for certain hobbies, (sex), became a master “Jedi” pessimist and Oh, the TV volume….that was an unexpected side-effect. She couldn’t be in the room with a loud TV and people trying to talk over it. I actually saw her fangs come out from this one. And tears, always tears.

And then there was the sleeping. All she wanted to do was sleep. I knew it was a way of escape. Some days I let her. Others I forced her to get up.

Many times I felt helpless and the times I felt like I could help, she didn’t want it. The few times my help was welcomed, I ruined it by telling her to “get ahold of yourself” or suggesting she just “pray about it” or “you’ll feel better if you get out of the house” and even worse, I would make her feel guilty for the negative impact she was putting on the family by placing blame. Fail, fail fail and….fail.

Sometimes though, I still feel alone. But then again, I feel like I am one in a million husbands that get it. But don’t talk about it.

That’s another thing about depression. No one wants to talk about it. Especially not the people living it. Maybe everyone thinks it will just go away. I did.

I think the light bulb has finally turned on for me though. I didn’t read a manual or catch the Post Partum Depression episode on Dr. Phil (they should have a PPD for dummies book out there…) but I think my experience in this might have kicked in.

I won’t bow to the depression that sneaks up on her, but I can make adjustments that will help see her through this trench, for as long as it takes for her to get to the other side.

I’m realizing that I need to try and make decisions with her instead of springing plans on her.I understand that I need to help around the house more, listen, just sit with her (iPhone, Mac, Netflix disengage) pray, listen, put her concerns in front of mine…(ouch), listen, pursue sitters and maintain date nights, pray, listen. Lots of listening.

Guys, if you are in this with me, let your wives (or woman) know that It’s ok to be an incredible mother and wife, but also feel extreme sadness . It really is ok!

Oh! and..it’s almost impossible for me to bring Courtney “up.” What happens is that she just ends up going down. I can’t cure her depression. I do know that in those severe moments of anxiety, all I have to do is hug her. Boom. Reset. Then we can attempt to move forward again. Telling her to snap out of it has never worked. I don’t think it ever will.

She read this to me the other day- “They (women suffering from depression) don’t need someone to tell them to get a grip. They need someone to walk them through the valley so they don’t stay there.” -Micah Maddox

Gentlemen, we’ve got to walk through the valley with our wives. Yup, Not enticing or easy, but come on,

Every night we’re the ones allowed to fall asleep next to them. Bargain.

One of the kids in my youth group is a Rubik’s Cube wizard. I love watching him turn the cube over and over until he solves it. Her depression reminds me of a Rubik’s Cube. We keep turning the cube, hopeful that one day the colors will align. And then, I guess, we will just move on to the next cube we need to work on.

For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. Cube after cube. Valley after valley. Holding her hand.

As a follower of Jesus I did a lot of praying, yet sometimes I felt my requests were in vain and let’s be honest, some days I didn’t feel like praying anymore. If you’re suffering from depression or living with someone who is and don’t know what to pray, maybe this scripture can help. This is more like a mantra-than a prayer. But saying it helps.

Romans 8:38-39 (NLT)

38 And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[a] neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. 39 No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.

(P.S.- this is a peek at an almost three year journey. Courtney is doing so much better.)

*07/10/2017 Edit*

Hi friends! Although this post is two years old, it is getting a ton of response and traction! I wanted to mention a few things. First, I am doing so much better! Second, and most importantly, I started THERAPY and GOT ON MEDICATION. THERE IS NOOO SHAME SWEET FRIEND. Also, I have found diet, exercise (I know, gag) and scheduled days out of the house have helped tremendously. They really have, although on a sad day going outside is the LAST thing you want to do.

It is a scary, scary thing when your mind takes over in a way that feels like imprisonment. Hang in there. One breath at a time, one task at a time, one day at at time. You aren’t crazy. Let go of that lie. Try again. With you.